The Final Tuesday
by InvincibleIsabelle
Summary: Based on the Mystery Spot that's kinda an alternate ending type thing. So here it goes. Summary: Sam can't take going through any more Tuesdays, watching Dean die. So he's going to end all of this, once and for all. How will Dean react to Sam's choice? Will Sam ever come back? Warning: Possible triggers for depression and major character suicide. Read at your own risk.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: First Supernatural fic! Just an idea I had based on the Mystery Spot that's kinda an alternate ending type thing. So here it goes.**

**Summary: Sam can't take going through any more Tuesdays, watching Dean die. So he's going to end all of this, once and for all. How will Dean react to Sam's choice? Will Sam ever come back?**

**Warning: Possible triggers for depression and major character suicide. Read at your own risk.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this show or anything about it other than this idea.**

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Sam's POV

I can't handle watching Dean die any more times. _I_ die a little each time I see him die, and I just want to fall into a permanent oblivion. So I've made what feels like the best decision in my life. I'm going to kill myself. Because I don't want to have to deal with Dean dying ever again. I don't want to have to be here any more. Right now, I'm lying in the lumpy bed at the motel, pretending to be asleep, waiting for Dean to force me to get up, even though the goddamn clock radio already went off. This is at least the one hundredth Tuesday I've gone through, and I don't even want to know how Dean will die today.

"C'mon Sammy! You really need to get up! No more lazying around," Dean calls before he steps into the shower. I quietly slide out of bed and grab a pen and some paper to write my note, making sure he can't hear me. I know what I want to say, I've been figuring it out for the past few days. I finish the note, put it in the drawer of the nightstand, and grab some clothes. I shower after Dean is done, and he starts to head out the door to breakfast. I stay behind, knowing he'll ask me about it. Sure enough, Dean get's halfway out the door before he notices. "Sam, aren't you coming to breakfast? I thought you'd be starving, I mean, we drove all last night!"

"I think I'm going to stay here. I don't feel that great. Just come back when you're done with breakfast," I tell him, and he shrugs as he leaves. I lock the door behind him, knowing that nobody can come in here if I'm actually going to succeed in killing myself. I tried it once before when I was younger but it didn't work. But it has to this time. It just has to. I take out my pocket knife and stare at it, long and hard. I polish it almost every day, and it's really sharp. Perfect. I roll up the flannel sleeves of my shirt and get a firm grip on the blade. Starting at my wrist, I make a long, deep cut up to my elbow. It stings a little but it feels right. Like I should have done this a long time ago. I slit my other wrist, too, and put the knife down. I can feel the life very slowly draining from me. I've wanted to do this for so long. And now I've done it, and I'm glad that I'll be gone. I begin to wonder where I'll go once I'm gone. But so far as I can tell, anything would be better than here. My mind has gone foggy, and everything is numb. My vision is going, and I can feel my heart weakening. I look down with the last bit of my strength to see two large pools of blood coming from my arms. Just then, the sound of a key in the lock disturbs my silence, and Dean comes in, whistling. He notices me right away, and stops dead in his tracks.

"Sammy! Oh God, Sam! What have you done?" He yells, tears bursting from his eyes. I stare at him. Tears have been running down my face dor some time now, and as he runs over to me and tries to stop some of the blood coming from my wrists, I take my last breath.

"Bye Dean."

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**AN: So it's done! I mean, there will be other chapters, but the first one is done. Reviews? Comments?**

**And if you ever need sombody to talk to, PM me. I'll listen.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: It's back for the second installment! Hope you enjoy!**

**Shout out to my reviewers: both guests, but I know for a fact that one of them is my sister because I made her read and review it. Muahaha. But really? Revews make me very happy, so if you liked it, or have any thoughts, comments, ideas, etc. feel free!**

**Summary: Sam can't take going through any more Tuesdays, watching Dean die. So he's going to end all of this, once and for all. How will Dean react to Sam's choice? Will Sam ever come back?**

**Warning: Possible triggers for depression and major character suicide. Read at your own risk.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this show or anything about it other than this idea.**

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Dean's POV

Sammy tried to kill himself. That's all I can think about, all I can notice. And I'm such a horrible big brother for not taking better care of him. I thought he was better now. He tried this once before when we were in hight school. He overdosed, but I found him in time and took him to the hospital. And now he's laying on the floor covered in his own blood, and it's my fault.

"Sammy," I choke out, tears spilling down my face.

I can't believe he would do this. I never knew. There were no warning signs like there were last time. I can't even believe that there ever could have been a last time, much less a this time. I look over at my baby brother, dead.

"How could you do this, Sam? You're the only family I had left! Family! Don't you remember?! Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten! And now you've left me behind. You and Mom and Dad. I'm all alone now. So alone," I'm yelling at him, at his body. I know he's dead and he can't hear me, but I don't care. I just want my baby brother back. And I know I won't ever get him back. I have to tear my eyes from him, and it's then that I see the note. I pick it up, taking a deep breath to calm my sobs.

'Dean,

I feel kinda bad that there has to be a this time at all, but this time, it's for real. I don't want to come back. Don't miss me, I'm not worth it. You'll be fine without me. But I'm sure you want a better explanation. So here.

I was stuck in a time loop. I'm not exactly sure why or how, but I was. And every day- which was Tuesday- you died. And then I would wake up and it would be Tuesday again. And it happened over a hundred times. I couldn't handle watching you die every day, over and over. So I hope it stops now. Because if I wake up tomorrow, and have it be Tuesday again, I don't even know what I'd do.

And I know that by now you're probably thinking the whole time loop thing is crazy,'

"Yeah, dingo ate my baby crazy," I mutter and look back at the page.

'Dingo ate my baby crazy. I know that's what you'll say, because you've said it before. Sorry if that was weird. And I'm sorry if finding me scared you. You have every right to hate me right now. I hate me, too. I'll see you in Hell sometime in the very distant future.

Sam'

"How could this happen to us?" I mumble, shaking my head. "Why, Sammy? Why?! You were the only family I had left. Remember? Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten, and now I'm left behind. You, Mom and Dad, you're all gone! And I'm alone. So alone," I yell at him, at his body. I can barely breath I'm shaking so much, and I pick up the knife he used. Turning it over in my hand. I begin to rub his blood off it, and it nicks my finger. For a split second, there's a little less pain. It all felt a little better. I slide down to sit next to my dead brother, and put the knife up to my wrist. I press down and cut through my skin. The emotional pain, all the crappy chick-flick feelings I had get absorbed by the physical pain. I run the blade over my arm again, over and over. Eventually, i look down at my arm, and stand up. I go into the bathroom to wash off my arm and get ready for bed. I just need to sleep, and maybe I'll figure the answer out tomorrow.

"You know what this means, right Dean? You're going to be all alone, and I'm not coming back. Who knows how long you'll last here, either," Sam says to me. It looks like him, but it isn't something just doesn't feel right about this. He touches my arm, right where the cuts are, and I wince in pain. He smiles, his eyes going solid black. 'It's not really him, it's just a demon, Dean,' I keep telling myself. Demon Sam laughs and squeezes my arm harder, making it bleed. He begins to lick the blood from my arm, making it sting more.

"This is the best kind of demon blood. And you know why? Because the demons in your head? They'll never really leave you. They taint your blood. Goodby dean. Forever!" he vanishes after these words.

"Sam? Sammy? SAMMY?! Where are you? Please!" I shout into the dark.

I jolt awake in the lumpy motel bed, shaking all over. I push myself off the bed and reach for my phone sitting on the nightstand. I dial Bobby's number, and he picks up a few rings later.

"Whatcha idjits need at 3 in the morning?" He grumbles.

"Bobby, there's only one of us left for you to call an idjit. Sammy's dead. He-" I break off as tears fall from my eyes and the words catch in my throat.

"What happened to him, Dean?" Bobby senses the tears and he can tell that this is different.

"He-he killed himself. Slit his wrists. Bobby, what do I do?" I wail. I don't care if I sound stupid or girly or anything. My baby brother committed suicide. He's dead, he's not coming back.

"Dean, where are you? I'll come and help you. I don't mind."

"At a motel in Broward County, Florida. It's a Super 8. How fast do you think you can get here?" I say. My only thoughts are of Sam. How bad he must have felt inside to do this. I break down, sobs tearing from my mouth.

"Dean, it's okay to cry. I don't mind. I can be there by 8 or 9 tomorrow. Okay? Don't do anything stupid. Just stay there. Okay? I'll see you tomorrow Dean. Take care of yourself." I hang up, and sit back on the bed. Looking at Sammy's body, I cry myself into a restless, dreamless sleep.

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**AN: Am I a horrible person? Did I make you cry? Good. Reviews please! Let me know if there's anything I can do to make this better!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So here's the third chapter! I write these whenever I need to feel better, and putting fictional people through my own pain works pretty well. Shout out to anna3311234, my only reviewer for chapter 2. Step it up, guys! Please?**

**Summary: Sam can't take going through any more Tuesdays, watching Dean die. So he's going to end all of this, once and for all. How will Dean react to Sam's choice? Will Sam ever come back?**

**Warning: Possible triggers for depression and major character suicide. Read at your own risk.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this show or anything about it other than this idea.**

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"Dean? Open the door, son!" I wake up to Bobby knocking on the door. I stretch, and roll out of bed. I look over at Sammy, and my eyes well up with tears. I grudgingly move to open the door. "Dean! How ya holding up?" Bobby asks gently. I burst into tears, shaking, sobbing hard. Bobby holds me up and leads me to sit in a chair. "It's gonna be okay, son. We'll figure something out, I promise." I can only nod, barely breathing. "Such a shame. He was so good, you never would have thought. He leave a note?" I nod again, pointing as I take raspy, shallow breaths. Bobby picks up the paper and reads it through. He swallows hard, and goes over to my brother. Picking up one of his arms, he examines Sam's wrists.

"Why are you doing that? He went pretty deep! Don't hurt him, please!" I beg. Bobby motions for me to come over, and I do, cautiously. "What'r you looking at?" Bobby holds out Sam's wrist, and I see not only the long vertical cut, but hundreds of horizontal ones. They go from his wrist all the way to his elbow. There are so many! I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. They aren't really old, either. I know he used to cut himself when we were in high school, but I had no idea he still did. I grab his other wrist and find the same situation. Bobby leads me back to the chair, he can tell a breakdown is on its way. I bury my head in my arms, shaking and gasping for air.

"Why, Bobby? Why would he do this to himself? Didn't he know how much I love him, how much I need him? How could he have felt so bad that he would commit suicide?"

"I don't know, son. I don't know why. And I don't know how we're gonna fix this, but we will, damn it." He whispers. "But right now, we need to do something about Sam." We bring his body and go to an abandoned field, where we give Sam a proper hunter memorial.

We get back to the motel, and as if sensing the pain in my heart, Bobby is pulling me in for a hug. At this point, neither of us care how girly this is. His shoulder blade is pressing against my cuts, and I gasp a little. Bobby pulls away and looks at me quizzically. I awkwardly rub my arm a little to try and ease the burning in my cuts, and Bobby grabs my arm. I yelp a little, he got the deepest ones.

"Dean, roll up your sleeves."

"No. I mean, why? It's fine!" I stutter, trying to get my arm out of his grasp. Bobby sighs and rolls up my sleeve for me, and I try and jerk my arm away before he can see anything. He can't find out what I did.

"Dean? What happened to your arm? And don't try and pull any bullshit, just tell me the damn truth."

I start crying for the umpteenth time. Bobby glares at me, and I spill. I tell him what happened. I've never seen him look like this. A combination of anger and pain and sadness. He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me out the door.

"Where are we going? Bobby let me go! Please! I'm sorry! Just let me go," I protest, but he firmly guides me to his car and drives us to a hospital. I sort of retreat into my head, so I don't remember a lot of what happened, except getting moved from section to section of the hospital until I am finally deposited in a room with baby blue walls and a squishy chair opposite a man sitting at a desk. He asks me a lot of questions about my life and what's been going on recently, and I'm too tired to change much except the names of people that could get in trouble. He tells me to go into the room next to his office, and I do, retreating back into my head. Some time later, the man comes back with Bobby, and I pay attention to only the basic stuff in the conversation. They are talking, and I hear words like 'severe acute depression' and 'emotional trauma' along with big medical words that are probably the names of drugs. Eventually, the man lets me talk to Bobby by myself, and he explains some things for me.

"Dean, you're going to be here for a while. Finding your brother and all, we just want you to be okay, son. They want to run a few more tests but they think that the reason for a lot of your moods and the like might be some Bipolar thing. I'm not too good with medical stuff, but you better be good, or who knows how long you'll be in here. Don't worry, I'll come and visit you twice a week. Now, son, don't start your crying again. It's gonna be okay, Dean," he tells me, and a few tears slip out again. I nod and give him a hug. He leaves, and the guy comes back. I'm guessing he's a doctor. He tells me that I'm going to be under observation for a day or two, and then I can take part in the "group activities". I nod, following him into a room where he introduces me to a nurse whose name is Castiel. He seems very nice, and he is very good looking. He tells me he has to check me out, and that he'll be one of the nurses who are going to watch me. He gives me a physical exam, then checks me over for scars and stuff. I guess that's just part of being in here. He gives me these blueish green pants and a shirt, a jacket, and some shoes. "Standard clothes. Nobody can stand out too much," he tells me, and turns away to let me change. I do, and he leads me to a room with a bed, a table and chair, and a window in it. There are a few shelves, and a door which leads to a bathroom. The room is almost entirely a periwinkle colour.

Castiel explains the basic procedures here, and I listen, but I don't talk. I haven't talked much at all. He sits at he table, and I sit on the bed, and the silence isn't pleasant, but it isn't awkward, either. Eventually, my thoughts go back to Sam. They always do, but now that he's gone, it's even more than usual. The feeling in the back of my head telling me I wasn't a good enough brother, that I could have tried harder, that I wasn't worth shit, it had turned into more of a voice. My voice. Castiel gets up but I don't really pay much attention until he comes back a minute or two later with a tray of food. He puts it in front of me. I only have a plastic spoon. How the hell do I eat dinner with a plastic spoon? I look down to find mashed potatoes, chicken fingers, and some apple sauce. I eat it all, and when I'm done I lay down and fall asleep.

My dreams are horrible. I have nightmares fairly frequently, but they're never usually this bad. I keep finding Sam dead, each time a different and worse way than the last. Sometimes I even watch him die. And all I can ever do is stand there helplessly and cry. I jolt awake screaming, shaking. Castiel comes over to me and helps to calm me down, he tries to comfort me. I can't talk, not to him, not to anybody. I can't and I won't. Because if I do, they'll all see how crazy I really am, how much I hate myself. Eventually, I fall asleep again, not really dreaming at all.

The next day is fairly similar to last night, except I am given pills to take and am allowed a 10 minute shower. I don't take them, not yet. I save them up. I eat most of what I am given, and quite honestly, I spend a lot of time wishing I were dead so I wouldn't have to deal with all this. Most of my thoughts are either of Sam, or of dying.

I wake up screaming again at around 3. Castiel is there to calm me down, and I slip into unconsciousness again, but am woken by nightmares two more times that night. The next day passes similarly, and I am taken to see the doctor I first met with when I came here. He tells me how I can begin joining group activities, but that he is giving me a new medication to try and stop my nightmares. I'm not being moved to a room with another patient, though, probably because of the nightmare thing. I nod and go back to my room, where Castiel is sitting. He has started talking to me, probably trying to get me out of my shell. I listen, but I can't say anything back. He tells me about how he is an Angel of the Lord, which I didn't believe until he showed me his wings. He says he was sent here to watch over me. He tells me about the outside world, and about Heaven. Sometimes I just listen to his deep voice and think. I think about Sam. I can't stop thinking about him. I am given another kind of pill to help me sleep, but I save them, too.

One day after I've been there about a week, during lunch, I realise that Castiel might know how Sam is doing in Hell. When I see him later, I'll ask him about it. If he's some angel or whatever, maybe he can talk to him. When I find him sitting in my room later, I grab the paper and pencil from the table and write a message.

'If you're really an Angel, do you think you could find out how my brother is?'

He looks at it, and then sighs.

"Dean, I know you want to know about Sam, but I do not think it is within my current abilities to create a temporary portal to Perdition so you can talk to him. I can, however talk to him myself. Is there anything you want my to tell him?" Castiel explains. I nod, and signal for a new piece of paper. He gets me one, and I begin writing Sam a letter.

'Sam,

I'm trying to figure out if I can bring you back, even though you said you didn't want to come back. But you should know what happened after you died. When I found you, part of me died. I cut myself with your knife. Bobby came to help me bury you, and he found out what I did. So he brought me to a hospital. So now I'm in a psychiatric ward. And they figured out I'm bipolar, which actually explains a lot. But I can't talk anymore, Sammy. It's like you took my voice with you. And I have nightmares every night, I wake up screaming. I need you, Sam. I want to be with you, dead. But I met an angel named Castiel (he's the one bringing this to you) and he says he's going to help me. I thought he was just screwing with me, but he isn't. I miss you Sam. Maybe I'll see you soon.

Dean'

Cas takes it and puts it in the pocket of his coat. He promises he'll try to get Sam to at the very least, write back. I watch him go, then grab all the pills I saved up and count them. I have around 10 of each kind. I down all of them, and sit on my bead, waiting for death. I'm fading fast, and as I slip into darkness forever I hear Castiel come back and scream my name, but I'm gone. I'm done. I pass out right then.

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